The General's Virgin Slave (8 page)

Amanda shivered and lay down again
under the warm sheepskin, but strongly suspected she would get no
sleep tonight.

Chrissy, you will never
believe where I am and who I'm with. You won't believe any of
this.

But she would be extremely jealous if
she got an eyeful of Marcus Cassius.

He was darkly gorgeous, rugged, with
black eyes that seemed to reach inside her soul. At first she
hadn't been able to look far beyond his scars and her own shock,
but once he was out of the armor and relaxed— and she'd reconciled
herself to the idea that this was all happening in her head— Amanda
realized her wayward imagination had created quite a
looker.

While she lay there, listening to the
fire crackling in the pit and the distant sounds of footsteps
crossing tile, she tried again to get it all straight in her head.
Thinking over the events of the night, Amanda was mortified by the
ease with which she'd fallen into her slave-girl role. She should
have resisted more than she did. Was her mind testing her somehow?
Seeing how far she would go?

Well, Marcus Cassius wasn't the sort
of man who enjoyed scintillating conversation, was he, she thought,
coming to her own defense. Her way into his protection and trust
was through sex. In any case, what should one talk about to an
almost two thousand-year old man? She was, after all, only nineteen
and despite her studies she couldn't possibly have seen and done
all the things he had in his life as a Roman soldier. As for social
skills and small talk, she clearly lacked those in any time, she
mused wryly. He wasn't much better at it.

How foolish and worthless all the
things in her life would seem to him. Her troubles and worries
would be nothing compared to those he faced. He might live better
than most people in this age, but he had earned it. His incredible
body and his scars told her that.

It made her feel humbled.

Amanda stretched and turned onto her
back, trying to find a comfortable position. Damn hard with a
collar around her neck. How the hell did dogs do it?

There were arches along one wall of
his chamber and these opened onto a portico with tall, white
columns, shown to her in slight glimpses when the light, gauzy
material of his drapes billowed gently in the breeze. She could see
a pool— or a bath as he would call it— and fluttering light from
rush torches set in iron holders. The view stretched on up to a
starlit sky.

Amanda turned her gaze to the chamber
in which she lay. Up there, in the corner of the wall there was a
crack in the plaster, just visible in the flickering light of the
fire. Earlier she'd noticed a mosaic tile missing in his floor.
Now, why would her imagination make up so much tiny,
inconsequential detail?

If this was all in her head, it must
mean that whenever Marcus Cassius left her presence he no longer
existed.

Her heart pinched and she turned her
face into the bed, taking in a great deep lusty breath of his
scent. Yes, it was still there. It was on her skin too.

How could he
not
be real?

* * * *

Strolling out to the
stable-yard, he stopped to talk with some of his men who gathered
around a brazier, sharing stories of the day's events before they
returned to the barracks. Marcus had never held himself too far
above his soldiers. Unlike some men of superior rank, he never
forgot his beginnings or what he owed to the loyalty and hard-work
of his men, and he made it a point to join in with their
conversation at times, to cheer
for
them when they were down and cheer
with
them in times of
victory.

Tonight they spoke of the fight with
the rebels in the forest and just as Marcus walked up to the group
they were discussing the new red-headed slave he'd captured there.
Rumor, as he'd known it would, had traveled swiftly through the
household. When he appeared out of the darkness, they tried to
change the subject, but he laughed and assured them, "You may speak
of the native woman to me. She is just another slave. What do you
know of her?" If they had information about his new acquisition it
could be useful, he thought, for while Marcus felt great curiosity
about the girl he had renamed Axa, he did not yet trust her to
speak truthfully.

One of the soldiers looked down at the
fire and then raised his eyes again.

"Speak, man," Marcus exclaimed,
clapping him on the shoulder. "What do you hear of her?"

Finally the man spoke. "I hear she is
a witch, general."

He paused and then laughed. "A
witch?"

"A Druid witch," said another. "She
has strong powers, general. You must beware, for it rumored that
she let you capture her on purpose."

Marcus scratched his cheek and tried
to laugh again, to put the men at their ease and show he was not
afraid. After all, he didn't believe in witchcraft.

But had the woman cast some sort of
spell over him? He'd acted strangely with her, felt oddly off his
balance when she was near. Added to that, she had also entranced
the governor so that he forgot his usual boring
conversation.

One of the soldiers nudged another.
"Show him," he hissed low.

"Show me what?" Marcus demanded, no
longer laughing.

"We found something, general. In the
forest. Where you brought down the red-head."

"And?" The men looked at him with
fearful eyes and this annoyed Marcus. Had she already caused
trouble by making his own soldiers wary of speaking to him? "You
should know by now that you have naught to fear from me unless you
fail willfully at your post or commit treason."

The soldiers exchanged more worried
looks and then, finally, one of them took a lit rush torch and
signaled for Marcus to follow him. "I will show you what was found.
We put it in the barn."

"An animal?"

"We know not, general. We would have
brought it to you, but none of us knew what to make of it, or
whether it should be moved. In truth, we have none of us dared
touch it since the first...wailing noise emitted forth."

"So you stood about discussing it?" he
snapped, quickening his stride toward the barn.

"I'm sorry, general. We were trying to
decide which of us should tell you that the slave girl may be a
witch." The soldier hunched his shoulders miserably. "It is well
known that you do not believe in such things. That you ridicule the
idea of a woman having magical powers."

Marcus pushed open the creaky barn
door and the soldier followed with his torch raised. "There,
general. On the bale of hay."

There were three bales stacked and
atop them sat a small, black object, about the size of his palm. He
took the rush torch and approached cautiously. "I hear no
sound."

"It has stopped its noise for now,"
the soldier muttered warily. "But who knows when it will start
again?"

He looked at it from a few feet away
and then advanced with three bold steps, to assure the soldier that
he was not afraid. The object was surely too small to be of any
danger and its edges were softly rounded so it would not make a
good weapon. "It is wrought of metal. Some sort of
metal."

Suddenly it let out a high-pitched
sound and a bright light flashed across its flat
surface.

Marcus almost dropped the torch. He
stared as the noise continued in short bursts of fury. Then the
light dimmed and the object was silent again.

"See, general?" The soldier came up
behind him, his voice ragged. "That's what it does. Without rhyme
nor reason. Even when it is not touched, it protests in that
manner."

Well, he may not believe in magic, but
this was something inexplicable.

"Give me your gladius," he said,
holding out his free hand. The soldier complied immediately and
Marcus walked slowly around the hay bales, holding the gladius,
trying to ascertain if the object had a face. Finally he poked it
with the tip of the blade.

Nothing.

He poked it again and then slid the
blade beneath and flipped it over. The other side was covered in
jewels that gleamed in the torchlight.

It was clearly an object belonging to
someone noble.

"We found it among the red-head's
clothing, general," said the soldier.

Marcus nodded.

All the facts began to add up in his
mind.

She could have let herself be caught,
just to spy upon him for her people. Certainly she had a rare
beauty and could be using it to draw him in by his prick. Women
were devious, cunning creatures and she would not, by any means, be
the first to try getting under the skin of Marcus Cassius— whether
for reasons of her own advancement through the slave ranks, or to
carry his secrets back to the enemy.

"
Where are you going?"
she had
demanded, as if she had a right to know.

Hmm, that was indeed suspicious. And
he, like a green fool, had answered her.

The way his body already responded to
her was dangerous and now that she was no longer immediately in his
presence he began to see the warning signs more clearly. She had
shown anger when he caught her, but not fear. Was her spitting and
kicking all an act? Her demeanor at dinner was almost that of one
accepting her fate. The turnabout came too quickly. And while she
asked a lot of questions, she answered few about her own
people.

He passed the gladius back to its
owner. "It is good that you found this thing. Keep it guarded here.
Tell no one else. I will deal with this matter, and with the
woman."

The soldier bowed respectfully and
Marcus strode angrily out of the barn. When he got to the door, he
paused and turned back.

"Have you heard any mention of a
native tribe called the A-Dahmus?"

"No, general. I don't believe
so."

Of course not. She had
lied.

"What is it, slave?
Tonight I will allow you to ask me one more question."

"Just one? Don't you think
I might have more than one?"

"There is no reason for
many questions. I have explained you your place here and who I am.
You need know nothing more."

"But I want to know
more."

A spy. He pressed his lips together in
fury and continued on his way. He had a horse to take care of. Then
he would handle the witch who had tried to enchant him.

For a moment he had let himself
believe she was interested in him as a man. But it was likely her
interest was only that of an enemy spy.

Chapter
Five

Amanda had not fallen asleep, so she
heard him coming. His footsteps echoed on the marble and then he
jerked on her collar chain.

"Up, slave."

That was different tone to the one of
mild exasperation he had last used on her.

"I know why you are here," he
announced, looming over her, firelight slashing across his
face.

Good, she was glad someone did. But
she guessed this was not the time to be flippant.

"You are here to pry into my
movements, eh? Perhaps to ascertain a way in which I can be
murdered?"

"What? No!" She put a hand on her
collar. "I am not a spy. I just happened to be in the wrong place
at the wrong time."

Marcus paced at the foot of the bed.
"You allowed yourself to be caught today in the forest. You were
set there to capture my attention."

"No! That's—"

"What is the thing that squeals and
makes bright light?" He stopped and glowered at her, knuckles
resting on his hips. "It is a weapon more advanced than anything I
have seen among these primitive tribes of Britannia."

She stared. It took her moment to
understand. "My phone? You found my phone!" Thank goodness. For a
moment she felt less stranded. Until she realized it may not work
here. At least she would know now whether this was a dream or if
she really had gone back in time.

"So you are Phoenician? I should have
seen at once you are not from this place."

"I
am
from this place. Just not
this
time
,
Marcus."

When she spoke his name the soldier’s
eyes flared and his shoulders stiffened, but he made no comment. No
doubt he was considering her capable of far worse transgressions
and so let the mistake slide. "What do you mean to tell me, woman?
You speak nonsense."

May as well try to explain, she
thought. It wasn't as if she had any other story to give. "When you
found me in the forest today I had just walked through a bathroom
door in the twenty-first century A.D." She held up her hand, palm
facing him. "I know it sounds ridiculous and I have no idea how it
happened, but it's the truth."

"Your lies are as lush and
entertaining as your body," he remarked coolly.

"I am from the future. Let me have my
phone and I can prove it. Or I can try."